The Prisoner of Azkaban
by Donna Vito Frutti
Summary: The escape of the prisoner from Azkaban. Often, he would slip. Let madness take over. Often, he would despair. It went on endlessly. In his dark cell, there was neither beginning nor end. Nor mercy.


**THE PRISONER OF AZKABAN**

\- Donna Vito Frutti

 _ **Little League Contest, Season 1, Round 2**_

 _ **Position**_ _ **:**_ _Chaser-3_  
 _ **Team**_ _ **:**_ _Slytherin_  
 _ **Prompts:**_

(restriction) No dialogue

(word) dawn

* * *

 **A/N -** Pardon me for typos, errors, lack of flow, lack of logic, etc. Unless you're a judge. But, perhaps, not even then.

* * *

 **THE PRISONER OF AZKABAN**

They had dragged him in, screaming and laughing. An involuntary response that saved him from total despair. But soon the laughter died down, and he found he didn't have any more voice left to scream with.

So, then he was forced to turn sane. He was forced to feel. Pain. Fear. And another emotion he couldn't name, reserved for a man he _wouldn't_ name. Instead, he gave it release by slamming his fist into the wall. He didn't feel the pain.

He could feel another sort of pain, though. Something that was profoundly deeper, and tugged at his heart. Something that threatened to send him reeling back into the dark abyss.

The dementors brought food, but he only picked at it. Their presence affected him. He drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes, he was sure he could hear howling in the distance. He thought they were werewolves. He later realised that the howling came from the other cells.

Pain. Fear.  
It was always dark in his cell. He never knew when the sun set, and when it rose. He wasn't even sure if it did, anymore.

Pain. Fear.  
The walls were his companions.

Pain. Fear.  
The dementors were always gliding past the prison cells. Some cried out from their cells. Some had already given up and were wasting away. Some were dead.

Pain. Fear.  
They seemed to enjoy striking fear. They were always feeding on happiness, bent on drowning out any trace of hope. He couldn't let them do that to him. He was innocent.

But often, when they were near, he would lose himself. He would see the dead faces of James and Lily staring back at him. He tried to focus on his happy memories. It worked, but not well enough. He soon ran out of happy memories.

Later, he tried something else. He transformed. It seemed to work better. He had read about that somewhere, in the library, along with James, Remus, and...when they were figuring out how to complete their transformation into animagi.

Perhaps, he had always been an animal. Perhaps, he was better as an animal. Animals didn't have to feel. Animals couldn't.

Days, months, years. They were all the same to him. Time was endless. It seemed to stretch on forever. Days, months, years. His cell was still dark and the walls were still his companions. Days, months, years.

 _I'm innocent._  
To keep himself sane, he talked to himself. He wouldn't let the other emotion take over. No, not until he could get out. He had to remain sane. For that, he reminded himself he was innocent. And he reminded himself who wasn't.

Often, he would slip. Let madness take over. Often, he would despair.

It went on endlessly. In his dark cell, there was neither beginning nor end. Nor mercy.

But then, one day, he found something to hold on to. A picture in the newspaper. He found _him_.

And then he felt a new emotion, and he greeted it like an old friend. Joy. A certain mad, warped form of it. He knew where to find _him_ , and it gave him a renewed sense of purpose. He no longer despaired. He no longer slipped.

 _He was at Hogwarts_.  
That night, he laughed, and for the first time, he felt hope.

And then he began to plan. He had to save himself long enough for vengeance. He no longer just picked at the food. He didn't lash out anymore. He allowed them to think he was finally giving in, wasting away and dying. It was easier, that way. It would give him an advantage.

 _He was at Hogwarts._  
With a ruthless single mindedness, he blocked the pain and the fear out.

And then, one night, when they came, he was already waiting, ready. They didn't feel him slipping past them. They didn't see him escape.

As he jumped off the fortress and tumbled into the sea, he could still hear the howling from the prison cells, voices begging to be killed...

The water was cold. He could barely breathe. He was weak, and had to struggle as he swam. At times, he almost drowned, almost let the fatigue take over him. But he swam on, and, in the end, reached the shore.

He wasn't free, yet, and so, he ran. He rested and then ran. He rested, and ran. Rested. And ran.

He hid himself, during the day. At night, he ventured out for food. He found some here and there. He didn't dare walk into a neighborhood. He had to be careful. He kept himself in the dark. Except, this was the kind of dark he enjoyed.

Slowly, he started to feel free. He loved the feeling. He began to enjoy it. It would take death for him to give that up again.

As he ran free, he let go of himself. He let himself feel more. And so, finally, he felt it again. He let it consume him. But this time, it was more. It was pure rage. Like him, it had transformed.

He found a little rabbit, once, and chased it. He caught it in his jaws. He could feel its fear, its little heart pounding furiously, trapped in the jaws of death. It reminded him of his prison. He let it go. His blood thirst was reserved for someone else.

Dusk, dawn, day and night, dusk, dawn, day and night. He felt the days pass by. He felt every passing moment. He felt.

 _He was at Hogwarts._  
He laughed. He would find him. Soon enough.

 _He was at Hogwarts.  
_ He ran.


End file.
